Has Anybody Here Seen My Old Friend Bobby?

By Summer Bacon

On my path to becoming a trance medium, I spent most of my adolescence and early adult years relentlessly questioning existence itself. I searched for Truth in every idea, every belief system, every way of life. I thought about the possibility of life after death (which to me was a boring black wasteland, where my soul simply floated among the stars). I thought about the concepts of “infinity,” and “forever.” Inspired by the forceful hand and insidious ways of my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. O’Brian, who pounded the hellfire and brimstone of her Catholic belief system into her public school students at every opportunity, I even entertained the prospect that there might be angels among us. I wondered where they came from. I pondered what my role might be in all of this. I prayed for understanding to come to me. I harbored a tremendous fear of death. I was terrified of the dark. I needed absolute knowing—evidence and proof—that God existed. I prayed hard and with sincerity. Each time I prayed, the response from the heavens was to send spirits to my side, to touch me, teach me, talk to me. Mostly, they just scared the shit outta me.

These mystical experiences intensified as I grew older. I was being chased by the light. I spent my days dodging the strange sights and sounds that bombarded me. During adolescence, even when I tried to be a “normal kid,” it seemed I always failed.

When I was sixteen years old I attended a prom at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. My date was a gorgeous German boy named Klaus. He was my first real boyfriend. I was one year younger than him. I sat at our dining table looking around in awe and wonderment at the magnificent ballroom as I waited for Klaus to return from what I thought was a visit to the restroom.

A very long time passed, and I realized that I had been forgotten. I wandered around the many tiered dining room only to find Klaus sitting at a secluded table smoking cigarettes with a stunningly beautiful Chilean exchange student.

Heartbroken, I left the dining area to soothe myself with a tour of the elegant and stately hotel. The Ambassador Hotel was rich with history. I didn’t know the history, but I could FEEL it. I decided to check out the restroom. My mother always told me that a sign of class in any hotel or restaurant was found in the condition of the ladies’ room.

I walked through the large foyer, my heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. A grand fountain surrounded by lush plants graced the center area.

I was walking briskly because I was the only one in the foyer and, as a young lady, I was always careful to watch my back in L.A. However, as I passed the fountain I was literally stopped dead in my tracks by a severe icy chill in the air. I stepped forward a bit, and it was warmer. I stepped back, and there was clearly a pocket of extremely chilly air. My whole body tingled with goose bumps, but not from the cold. I felt breathless and immobile, and a bit afraid as if I sensed that I was being followed by someone.

Something inside said, “Turn around, Summer. Turn.” Mechanically and obediently I obeyed the “voice” and turned to face the fountain. “Look down,” the voice said. I looked down at my feet, and discovered that I was standing at the base of a plaque that replaced one of the marble tiles.

I read the plaque and my eyes began to brim with tears.

I was standing on the very spot where Robert Kennedy had been assassinated.

Although I was deeply moved, at the same time I was profoundly afraid, as I knew without question that I had been stopped there by a force larger than me. I stood, paralyzed for a moment, wringing my satin-gloved hands, with the thought, “Why me?” very present in my mind. I could hear Mr. Kennedy trying to speak. He had something important to tell his family. That was all I could grasp. The rest slipped away the harder I tried to listen. I could feel his desperation. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kennedy,” I whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”

I gasped and turned as I felt someone standing behind me, certain (and hopeful) that my date had come to find me. No one was there.

Needless to say, I high-tailed it back to the dining room, and never did find out what the bathrooms looked like at the Ambassador Hotel.

Please Read This Important Note:The interaction between you and Dr. Peebles today is a spiritual adventure, and I do hope that you enjoy it. The following disclaimer is intended to clarify a few points about the intended purpose of the guidance you may receive from Dr. Peebles. Dr. Peebles will answer questions on a variety of subjects, including health. He was a naturopath, and Civil War surgeon during his life on earth. But he obviously can't be considered a licensed physician from the other side. So please understand that any healing suggestions that he makes are from a spiritual perspective and they're in no way intended to replace the recommendations, advice, guidance, and prescriptions offered by your medical providers. Please use your own discretion and discernment regarding all matters discussed with Spirit, and any of the information received from Dr. Peebles. The way in which the information is received and applied in your life is, of course, your sole responsibility.